


Up On the Hill

by Sheblet (salem112)



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: AU, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 23:08:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/919106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salem112/pseuds/Sheblet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Delphine Cormier rents an old house up on a hill and meets her mysterious roommate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Up On the Hill

The house is huge.

You crane your neck to get a full view. The towering walls are painted white, the siding black. Your eyes go wide as you take in the rolling hill it sits upon. You can smell salt water on the air.

“And you’re willing to rent this out to me?” you ask skeptically, turning to stare down at the elderly woman.

“This house just sits here, empty and lonely. It would be a comfort to know somebody is keeping it company.” Her eyes are shining.

The wind blows, and you get the eerie feeling that she’s not just talking about the house.

\--

You move in on a rainy Monday.

You’re new to this place, so there is no one around to help you. No matter; you only have enough stuff to barely fill the first floor, anyhow.  
It is as you’re heaving a box of your textbooks in through the front door that you see her for the first time.

She is beautiful; ethereal, almost. Her brown hair twisted into dreads, dark eyes framed by cat-eye spectacles. She is wearing some flowy article of flower-print clothing draped over her graceful body. She grins at you.

You drop the box. Thunk.

“Hey,” she says with a little wave, the many bracelets on her wrist jangling. “Um… awkward. I’m Cosima.”

You furrow your brow. “The… the landlord, she…. Did not say anything about a roommate.”

“Ahhh, yyyeaaaa,” she says slowly, as if any sudden movement might send you running. “It was kind of unexpected. Do you… is it… a problem?”

You stare at her for a moment. Then, slowly, you smile. “I suppose not. This house is quite big; I could not possibly inhabit it all on my own.”

The grin that lights her face is worth everything.

\--

“So what made you decide on this big ol’ place? It’s not exactly young, beautiful French girl material.”

“Oh?” you laugh as you bustle around the kitchen. Cosima nods from her place at the island, face leaning on her hands. “What makes you say this?”

“Uh, for starters, it’s big and empty. You should have someone keeping you company.”

“I do. I have you.”

“Aahahaaa. That is oddly romantic, miss Delphine. You are very slick.” She wiggles her brows at you.

“As for what I’m doing here,” you say, handing her a mug of fresh coffee, “it is close to the university where I plan to study. Also the rent is amazingly cheap.”

“It’s because you have to live with me,” says Cosima with a self-deprecating grin.

“If that were the case, I’d be paying them to let me live with you!”

Cosima laughs and gives you a suspicious look. “Are you trying to get in my pants, Delphine Cormier?”

You don’t answer. Instead you take a sip of coffee because to be honest, you’re not really sure.

\--

It is only in the fall, when you start school and leave Cosima to her own devices all day that you finally wonder what it is she does. She says she’s a student as well, but you never see her leave the house (though you do see her with a textbook in her hands more often than not.)

You find you don’t really know much about Cosima at all. Why is she living in that big old house with you? What is she doing here? What are her aspirations?

You’re desperate to know, but she is tight-lipped about the subject. 

“You don’t wanna hear about my life,” she tells you every time. “It’s boring. Meanwhile, I could hear you talk all day. Your French accent? Totally hot.”

Well.

How can you deny her?

\--

The first time you kiss, it is under the old oak tree out back. 

It has turned bronze with autumn rust, and the breeze is cool and wet as it brings the sea with it. She’s laughing, telling you some silly joke, and at first you think keep it together but then immediately after you think fuck it and then you just…

You do it.

She inhales against you and it is like revelry. She feels so startlingly warm, so much so that you feel you might need to shed your jacket in a moment. Her lips are like cigarette smoke; so intoxicating, but somehow bad for you in the long run, though you’re not sure why.

It doesn’t matter. When she pulls away, the look she gives you settles your mind.

You are in love.

\--

Sometimes she wakes up coughing. Deep-seated, body-wrenching coughs that shake the whole bed. You wake to her wrangling herself out of your arms, body vibrating with the   
force of her choking.

“Cosima?” you slur blearily, squinting into the dark bedroom.

“Go back to sleep, I’ll be – I’ll be fine,” she tries to assure you between coughs. You are not convinced and so you follow her to the bathroom but the instant you get to the half-closed door, something stops you.

She doesn’t sound right. The way she coughs, the way the breath rattles in her lungs like it is something solid that will get stuck in her throat.

That is the sound of death, you know. You heard it in your father, and you are hearing it now in this beautiful young woman.

You tip-toe back to bed. Not too long after, the coughs die down and she returns. As she climbs in behind you, you pretend not to feel how cold she is.

You pretend not to see the blood caked beneath her fingernails as she drapes an arm over you.

You pretend.

\--

You come home from the lab late at night. Cosima is already in bed; she looks frighteningly small beneath your heavy duvet. You smile at the look of serenity on her face and become overwhelmed with the need to be near her.

“Chérie,” you hum, leaning on the bed behind her and brushing a stray dread from her face. You cup her cheek. It is cold.

You frown. She is unnaturally still. It is almost as if….

She isn’t breathing.

The realization sits hard in your stomach like a rock and you fear you might vomit.

“Cosima,” you whisper, slapping her lightly on the face. Your heart begins to beat painfully. Your fingertips tingle. “Cosima, darling, please-“

Miraculously, she takes a deep, shuddering breath. “What?” she grumbles. “Was I snorin’?”

You spend the rest of the night sobbing in her arms.

\--

She refuses to see a doctor.

“Cosima,” you say raggedly, “you were not breathing. You should really-“

“Please,” she whispers, looking scared and pale. “Please, Delphine, just let it go.”

You frown and feel like crying. You’ve cried more in the time spent living with this girl than you have any other time in your life.

“Are you dying?” you choke, and you aren’t sure where the question comes from but once it leaves you it hangs in the air like someone’s dirty laundry.

Her eyes go wide and for a moment she is speechless. She just looks at you, jaw working like she wants to answer but forgot how to use her voice. Finally she manages a “No, Delphine. No.” She comes forward and hugs you, fiercely. You return the hug with a strength you didn’t know you possessed.

You stay that way for hours, humming and swaying, bodies in perfect rhythm, refusing to let go.

\--

You’re in the local “ma and pop” type store when you hear them. Two elderly women, talking in hushed tones.

“Yes, the house up on the hill – big old white number, so beautiful. It is a shame, really. So sad.”

You frown and take a step closer to the conversing women. A small boy howls and drowns out part of what the woman says next.

“- and so young, too. I still can’t believe it. Died right in that house. Her poor grandmother.”

Your heart beats quicker.

“Excuse me,” you say. “I live in that old white house and was just wondering what you were talking about?”

“Oh, yes, darling,” says one woman. “It’s all very unfortunate. The landlord’s granddaughter died less than a year ago in that very house, bless her soul. Some sort of respiratory disease that took her. She was always coughin’ up blood, that poor dear. She’s better off.”

Your palms are sweaty, the plastic bag slick as your fingers struggle to hold on. “What… was her name?” you manage.

“Oh, I’ll be darned if I can remember. Betty?”

“Somethin’ real pretty, like Cosmos or something.”

“Cosima?” you breath. This cannot be happening. It isn’t possible. You are dreaming.

“Yes! Cosima, that’s it. God rest her soul.”

The world tilts off its axis and you are falling.

\--

She smiles at you when you enter the house. “Delphine! Hey. How was your trip?”

You can’t answer. You can’t talk about eggs and you can’t talk about milk because you can’t talk you can’t breathe you can’t can’t can’t-

“Delphine?”

You realize you’re still standing in the middle of the doorway. You can’t bring yourself to move. Cosima rises, comes forward to take the bags from you. Puts her hands on either side of your face.

Cold. So cold. How did you ever think she was warm?

“Delphine, hey,” she whispers, concerned. Her eyes bore into yours. “What is it?”

Your chin trembles as you begin to lose control. “I was at the store and I heard some old women t-talking a-a-and…”

“Shhh,” she whispers, stroking her thumb over your jaw. “And?”

“They were talking about you, Cosima.”

You know she knows exactly what you mean by the way her face drains of any color. Her eyes go wide. Her thumbs stop stroking.

“Oh,” is all she says.

“Cosima,” you whisper, “I asked you if you were dying.”

“And I said no,” she says, firmly. “Because I’m not dying. I can’t be.”

“Because you’re already dead,” you say.

“Yes,”she whispers, and a tear falls from one eye.

Well, you think. Isn’t this just fucked.

\--

Most of the time she is cold to the touch but when you kiss she is like the sun back home.

You kiss her lots; out on the porch, in the backyard. It is just you and her in this big empty house and you would not have it any other way.

She warns you that she might have to leave soon.

You pretend not to hear.

You’re good at pretending.

\--

One day you wake up and the house is more… empty than usual.

You look for her, but she is not there.

Just like that, she has gone; flown from your life like the birds in spring. You do not cry. She did warn you, so she’d get pissed if you cried.

Instead you go out and stand under the old oak tree and pretend there isn’t a hole in you where she used to be.

You’re not as good at pretending as you thought you were.


End file.
